


Lilac Chaser

by 1545011



Category: Original Work
Genre: Anal Sex, Downward Spiral, Eye Sex, Eye Trauma, Gay, God - Freeform, Home Intruder, Humiliation, Kinda, M/M, Masochism, S/M, Sadism, Sex Toys, Size Difference, Stranger - Freeform, Weird, anal penetration, illusion, optical illusion, sph, to some degree idk
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 14:16:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22048498
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1545011/pseuds/1545011
Summary: Mike meets a stranger, and shares an interesting night with him despite many barriers. He cannot see him, and the stranger cannot see what is happening to him.I really needed to put this out there. Please tell me what you think, and what you would like to see more of.
Relationships: Original Male Character/God, Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 6





	Lilac Chaser

Have you ever been embarrassed to have someone come over and see you? It’s much easier to clean yourself up, and go out to see them. There’s perhaps been many times where you’ve taken quite a bit of time, and strenuously cleaned up your house just so you could have a single friend over in peace. 

Mikael has told himself for almost three months that he will get back into his routine soon, and stop feeling like a guilty slob. Though, it didn’t ever completely restore his life to the way it was before.

There was always some distraction for him. And,the reality of his life didn’t bother him.What causes him that guilt and embarrassment was the thought of others looking in on him to cast judgement, despite not ever directly hearing this feedback from anyone. 

He spent a lot of time admiring his new painting, taken right from the museum. Mikael never hung it up into one place, preferring to take it with him from room to room as he saw fit. It was not obsessive, it was just a pleasant semblance of company. You always have your laptop with you at home, don’t you?

So, this distraction did little harm. His apartment was only cluttered, or permanently untidy. There was no motivation to change his routine, the 45 year old was perfectly content. ‘There are others who have a much worse standard that I.’ The man would reason with himself, brushing out his medium length brown hair in his dirty bathroom with its crowded counter space. 

Last night he was invited to a friend’s party. It took some convincing to not host it at Mikael’s apartment, but the arrangements were made. He and some friends drank, and talked. They played their music loud, and went on through the night. 

By 9 in the morning, Mikael wanted to go home. It took him and his friends some time to sober up, and he was glad to make it home by 11:30. It was almost noon by the time he got to sleep. No matter, there were two of his mutual friends who actually passed out on their host’s floor. 

He woke up and his face felt dry. The sky was dark, since there was no light through the curtains. On his own sofa, the man sprawled out and slept for nine hours. 

‘8:56. That’s still 8 at night.’ Mikael rubbed his face and reasoned with himself again. 

Everything looked still, perfectly in place from when he last saw it as he fell into a difficult slumber this morning. Though, he didn’t get a deep look at much of anything since the man was so drunk.

He got himself up, starting with washing his face. He tried to brush his hair the best that he could, but it still looked dirty.  
Part of the way through, he felt like he was missing something.

For some strange reason, Mikael didn’t feel guilty about how he had taken the painting in such a way from the museum some months ago. It didn’t bother him, or really cause him to be paranoid.  
That must be some kind of justification, isn’t it?

Larssen visited him maybe a few times in his sleep the following weeks after the museum. The other man couldn’t remember anything particularly lucid, though.

He went to retrieve his painting of Larssen from his bedroom. 

‘While I’m here.’ He sighed to himself, and started to dress himself in some fresh clothes. 

A good half of the clothes he had were black, which made it very difficult for Mikael to find a particular article when he needed it. His hand looked pink against the dark clothes he dug through the pile on the foot of his bed. 

Nothing went into his decision making process as he undressed and pulled on a new outfit. His body was lithe, and he felt frail as he changed. Alcohol can bring on such a terrible fatigue. 

The colors were the same as his previous outfit, which Mikael left on the floor where he stood. He took in a deep breath, and went to check his usual spots for his painting of Larssen.

Next to his pillow on his nightstand, he pulled the clutter around to search for it. He wasn’t there, but that didn’t frustrate him too much.  
He moved to the foot of his bed. The same technique of sorting aimlessly granted no progress. 

Mikael rubbed his face, worrying now. It must be around, but these were the usual spots. He moved his head to look around the room after he regained his posture. 

In the small window which his back faced as he slept, Larssen’s eyes through the portrait met his own. That was unusual. Mikael pursed his lips uneasily, and walked over to him.

The blinds were drawn, and only the back of the portrait was visible from outside. Who knows how long he was sitting there, anyhow? This reignited that worry the man had in the pit of his stomach. The fact he would never know was the worst of it. Mikael closed the blinds, and tucked the portrait under his sleeve.

But now, he smiled to himself, it felt good when he was with his favorite image. His hand patted over his belly in an attempt to settle himself. Nothing bad should come of it; Nothing ever does, it’s all in your head when you think along those lines.

Mikael turned down the hallway to enter his bathroom. His head started to hurt, he wanted to rub it and alleviate some of the discomfort. 

Something cold pressed itself against the back of his head.  
“Back up. We’re going to back up, and we’re going out.” A deep and rough, but otherwise neutral voice caught his attention. It was a man’s voice.  
He didn’t dare move. Mikael wasn’t facing the mirror, but he didn’t peer over to see who was behind him using it anyway. His body stiffened, and a terrible sinking in the pit of his stomach became apparent.

“Okay. First, put him down in the tub.” It commanded. 

It scared Mikael on some level that whoever this was, they knew that he always thought of the portrait of Larssen as the man, and not as an object. 

All of the bad things he has ever done raced through his mind. Then he thought of Larssen. He knew this was connected to the museum in some way, definitely. All of those dead-end thoughts and awful convictions about minor fights or mundane slights gripped him fleetingly. All of it was self depreciating. He was becoming the antagonist he feared right in his mind’s eye.

He closed his eyes, his headache growing from the stress. From his mouth, a pained cry escaped. Then the man obeyed, untucking the portrait from under his arm and approaching the bathtub.

Mikael didn’t move his eyes at all. The appearance of whoever was taking him didn’t draw any curiosity. But, he felt a pressure to be smart in his movements.  
He gripped the wooden frame with both hands, and set Larssen into the slightly curving bottom of the bathtub.  
A hand hesitated on caressing his image, but instead the man stood at attention to the stranger behind him. 

Mikael was scared, and he felt like he surely looked pathetic and dirty. 

“We go now.” It commanded, and Mikael obeyed. It guided him down the hallway, and into the front room. Where, he could see that the door was wide open.

The captive Mikael swallowed nervously. They went out that same door, and he was only hyper aware of his surroundings for a short period. His eyes, dark brown and wide, were alive with some kind of fear. For the first few steps down the stairs, he was using all his effort to do so in such a way that his captor would find sufficient even if he was the most critical type of person.

In his head, an image formed.  
His dick hardened in his pants. Pinned against his thigh, it was warm. But, all he could focus on was his headache. The details of the image for the time being were unknown.

The man held his eyes open, nothing changed about his appearance, yet he could still see it. as he continued to descend, and his surroundings therefore changed.

It was an erotic image, but visually like some kind of optical illusion that you would see on the internet. Maybe, the man could discern that it was green; But only the kind of green that you would see on a perfectly flat, gray screen. 

The two continued, and his captor walked Mikael down to the edge of the road. The pavement was wet and muddy. Wetlands were very common here, and this is where the path began to blend into the wet earth. 

Mikael’s gait turned awkward, as one does. His shoes felt around in front of him for a moment before stepping hesitantly. Nevertheless, he persisted as he went forward through the dark. He could still feel whatever metal tool was shoved against the base of his head. His surroundings weren’t visible to him at this point. 

There was no light, so this image which took over his vision felt more like a blindfold to him. The shapes and details were becoming clear to the middle aged man now.  
He could recognize it as his own penis, and Larssen’s. They were together, and Mikael’s was resting on the smaller man’s own much larger. 

Wow, he must be having a lot of fun beaming this image into his head like this. As Mikael recognized them, he felt his erection start to throb against his leg. Aroused, he couldn’t stop himself from letting out a small hum. He felt pitiful, with a small stain of precum forming in the front of his pants. 

Two things were unusual about it, according to his own bank of experience. Larssen had only a single shaft here, and the size of it was very tame. Still, it was thicker than his forearm at the elbow, and its incredible length was not yet revealed to him in this image. He licked his lips longingly, the idea of him penetrating Mikael began to be feasible.

The image persisted in his eyes. The color of it continued to be difficult to determine, and as it wore on in his consciousness he thought that some of the shapes or details were changing. Mikael couldn’t tell if they were shifting slowly, or if the details were changing rapidly from second to second. Likely it was the very same image, but it was natural for the human eye to doubt itself, and shift some of the stimulus around. He couldn’t believe that his own penis looked that tiny and thin compared to the other man’s.  
His breathing grew heavy, and the pain of his headache made his movements stiffen even more. In his pants, his dick was fully erect and desperate for attention. The green ends of the cones in his retina were beginning to grow heavy. 

He wanted to rub his cock on Larssen’s, just like the image. He wanted to feel his huge veins and own intense throbs of arousal massage his own smaller penis. Better, he wanted him to grab the larger man by his hips and rearrange his insides with that huge cock. These erotic fantasies were starting to command most of his focus, now. 

The two were no longer on any path, and had not been for some time now. Navigating their surroundings was proving very hard as the earth was very soft and littered with rocks or clumps of debris. Soon, the stranger stopped Mikael wordlessly. 

In surprise, Mikael let out a small huff and barely stopped himself from stumbling forward any further. It was obvious to tell what was on his mind from the sound.

From behind came a powerful punch which then knocked Mikael to the ground. His shoulder stopped him from sinking his face into the mud. The 45 year old yelped, and breathed in shakily as he lay squirming slightly on the ground.  
‘What provoked him? How do I even begin to explain, that for the past twenty minutes I’ve been seeing that?’ His bearded mouth was agape with shock. He felt like the stranger was reacting to his arousal by beating the humiliation into him. 

Unkempt, on all fours in the mud in front of a stranger, his dick straining against the front of his pants… How did he end up here? 

The blows began to land on him, and Mikael let out his aroused cries freely. He felt himself being kicked, slapped, spit on. The stranger yanked him around by his hair, and there was blood in his mouth. His cock was harder than ever, and the stranger said nothing as he attacked him.

In his retinas, the green ends of his cones were starting to strain hard. All color in his vision was bleaching, and then returning. His body was unsure if the color had even left at all. But, Mikael knew what he was seeing. Through the pain, through the tightness in his head, through the current assault on his well-being, he could see that incredibly sexy image of his own dick compared to Larssen’s. It was so humiliating, and completely emasculating. 

Some devious part of him sensationalized these fantasies, they always have. The thought of an ex, or a friend, or some person of the public seeing him this way always crossed his mind. Then, the reality of his situation began to grip him.  
Truly, here Mikael was, dirty and pathetically aroused, being beaten by some stranger. His chest heaved, and his mouth formed an ‘O’ shape while he gasped or nearly moaned. 

There was a moment to himself, and the only thing he could hear was his own heavy breath peppered with soft moans and cries. Standing it no longer, Mikael started to masturbate. More of what he wanted was for his ass to be filled by Larssen’s cock. This was the only time he had seen it at such a useful size. But, his large hand traced the curved outline of his dick through the fabric of his pants. The hangover’s headache still held some impact on him, and his movements were inelastic.  
‘No, that’s not good enough.’ Mikael needed to have it all. He started to undress. 

The environment proved to be too cold for that route, and he settled only on unfastening what was necessary of his clothes. 

A hand passed an object to Mikael, stopping him from going any further with himself. His own hand tried to identify what it was, since he was still visually incapacitated with that burning colorless image plastered into his mind’s eye.

“Do what you feel like.” The stranger commanded as the dimensions of his tool made themselves apparent.  
It must be made of a smooth stone, judging from the texture. It was longer than it was wide, and not quite a perfect tube shape. The base was wider than the top, and its thickness was just about consistent with his own wrist. Here, it was clearly some answer to his lust. Despite his manic excitement, the mystery of how this stranger knew what he needed flashed through the 45 year old’s consciousness.

Greedily, he started to lubricate it. He rubbed it against the underside of his aching cock. It was shockingly cold to his touch, and it felt so damn good to him. It was not a complete manifestation of the image in his mind, but it did in some sense replicate his prior fantasy. The stone was much larger than his own dick, and he was able to eclipse his own endowment with it easily. Mikael spat desperately in his hands, and rubbed them on it. Whatever, it would have to do. 

There was a small hesitation, and he almost had second thoughts. It was just so very thick, it caused some concern. The middle aged man shook it off, and he started to position himself so he could penetrate himself with ease.  
It filled up his insides so much, without an ounce of effort he already felt strained from it’s incredible thickness. He moaned loudly, almost in pain from it. He slid the rest in, and started to fuck himself with the tool the stranger had given him. 

Finally, the cones in his eyes teetered out. The magenta ends swung forth, seesawing violently in the backs of his eyes. What resulted was a vivid lilac impression of that same image. Larssen, and him. Every detail was revealed in lilac; the veins crisscrossing the surface of his dick, the foreskin pulled back over his enormous tip, the shining wet surface of it all. 

His hand was still busy penetrating himself with the tool, though it did slow some as he started to come to an orgasm. Every reality of his circumstance came to crash down on Mikael.

There, some unknown marsh or wet field, he was fucking himself with a rock for the pleasure of some stranger. He was dirty, he was a greedy slutty bottom, he was humiliated. Some perverse and exhibitionist pleasure took hold of him, and Mikael felt himself come to an orgasm.

Perhaps, the stranger was never there. Why would he be, how could he be? There was no actual reaction to this moment.

Sticky white fluid covered himself, and he needed to pull the painfully thick tool from out of his ass. Fatigue got the best of him, and Mikael’s consciousness started to fade. The lilac impression persisted in front of his eyes.

\--

In the distance, he could hear cars rushing by irregularly.  
Maybe, it was 5 in the morning. Of course, this was only judging from the light which now illuminating his surroundings. His eyes were clear of the afterimage by this time, and he could not decide whether he remembered every humiliating detail or not.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave a comment telling me what you thought, though I appreciate any feedback.


End file.
